Page 102 of The Finish Line

“Yours is terrible,” he retorts, looking at my gap-toothed jack-o-lantern.

Laughter bursts from me as I weigh his serious expression.

“All right, boyfriend 101, even if it’s terrible, or I look fat in my jeans, lie to me.”

“Now you want me to lie?”

“You are such an ass.”

“Come on,” he orders, picking up his pumpkin. “We have to put them on the porch to scare the bad spirits away.”

Grinning, I gather my terrible pumpkin and follow him out to the porch. We sit them side by side in the freezing, star-filled night. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me back into his chest as we survey my front yard. The trees lining the driveway are nearly bare, but the view is picturesque due to the size of the yard and the distant moon beaming high above the field across the street.

“It is peaceful here, Cecelia.”

“But?”

“No but, I have adjusted. Come on. It’s cold.”

Just as we turn to walk in, I see a dark object racing toward us and scream as it comes into full view, eye level, and hovers just feet away.

“Don’t be afraid,” he chuckles. “It’s just Tyler, saying hi.” He lifts his hand and flips him the bird.

“That’s a drone.”

“Yes.”

Yeah, just your average, normal, everyday Halloween, Cecelia. But no part of me resents it.

“Since when do we have drones?”

“I told you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’m pretty sure I would remember you telling me we have drones.”

“Oh,” he recalls, “I told your parents.”

“Well, it sure helped that they knew.” I glance back at him, and he flashes me remorse.

“Sorry.”

“This is a prime example of why you’ll forever be in the doghouse, King.” I turn back to where the drone is and wave enthusiastically to Tyler before I start to blow kisses.

Behind me, Tobias growls, before jerking me back inside the house and pinning me to the back of the door. He flips the lock three times, placing his palms next to my head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t give those away.”

“No?”

He jerks his chin. “No. Not negotiable.”

“Such a jealous man. It’s a good thing I don’t want to kiss anyone else.”

“Non?”

“Non,” I whisper and bite my lip, anticipation thrumming through me when he lifts his finger, tugging it free from my teeth before running his thumb along it, his eyes pooling. He leans down and places a brief kiss to my lips, his gaze drifting down to my pajamas before he steps away.

And now I’m starting to hate my own flannels.

“What’s next?” I ask, following him back into the kitchen.